


Never Too Late

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Prompt: small fic of MSR shopping for clothes? (fluffy stuff).





	Never Too Late

It’s brooding grey and wind-whipped in the main road but Mulder is striding ahead. Clearly, this streetscape hasn’t changed that much in the thirty years since he’d last trodden these cobbled pavements.

“Really, Mulder?” she says, elbowing past the slow-moving crowds before her. She can just see the top of his hair, disappearing into the wide entrance of Marks & Spencer.

He’s holding a basket over his arm and waiting for her next to a mannequin wearing a green striped polo tee and beige chinos. “What do you think, Scully?”

“I think that the day you take up golf, is the day I’ll believe in aliens.”

His mouth opens with a pop but she’s not going to wait for his smartass response. “Why are we here, Mulder? In this shop? I mean, I’ve heard it’s revered by the Brits and sells sandwiches and middle class clothes. So, what gives? I thought you’d be taking me to Harrods and Liberty and quaint little olde worlde tea shoppes.”

They’re standing on the escalator and he’s holding her elbow. The whole store reeks of wholesome, of family values, of running through meadows of daisies. She catches sight of them in the mirrored walls on the way up. She’s wearing her hair back in a low ponytail and wearing a fitted rain jacket in a delicate shade of blue, and he’s wearing those skinnier jeans, darker denim and his new well-cut winter jacket in charcoal. They look like a fucking Marks & Spencer model couple. If there was a golden retriever between them, the deal would be done. By the time, he’s dragged her to the lingerie section, she’s ripped the tie out of her hair and slung her jacket into his basket. Her figure-hugging maroon cable-knit and slim fit black jeans look much more experienced government agent, than Football Mum or whatever is the British equivalent of saccharine parent.

“Again, Mulder, why are we here?”

He’s grinning now, looking around at the rows of underwear. “For these little beauties, Scully.”

Sighing, she studies the garments in front of her. “Bras and panties? Really, Mulder? You couldn’t just have bought a couple of those magazines you used to like? I mean, I’m a little bit older and more accommodating these days, maybe if you’d asked, I might have sat with you to read through them.”

“Accommodating, Scully? Anyway, these are not just knickers and bras,” he says and she smothers a giggle at his use of the local terminology. “These are Marks & Sparks knickers and bras. Everybody in the UK wears them. Think of it as a rite of passage.” He walks around the back of the shelves. “I’ll tell you what, Scully. You just stay here and I’ll select some items.”

“Hey,” she says, trying not to yell as they pass a pair of older ladies with blue rinses and brown leather handbags propped on their forearms. “What did you just pick up?”

He swings the basket away from her. “It’s my treat, Scully.”

“Why won’t you show me what you’ve chosen? They better not be red lace thongs and see-through bras. And what size did you buy? They’re all different here. How do you know…”

But he’s already gone and she squeezes her fists together and turns her grimace into a smile at the two old ladies as they walk past again.

“Nice rear he’s got, dear,” the first one says, smiling at her. “And still got all his hair. He’s a keeper.” They’re watching Mulder retreat.

“If only we were thirty years younger, Aileen,” the other one says, winking. “We could have done some damage to that one.”

She pours the wine and lays out the cutlery. For all of Marks & Spencer’s primness and reputation, it did offer a fine selection of ready meals and the smell of the balti and naan is piquant, making her mouth water.

“Mulder? What’s taking you so long?” He’s been in the bedroom for too long to be healthy.

He reaches an arm out to grab her and says, “just humour me, Scully. I’ve laid out the clothes on the bed. Put them on and then when you’re ready, knock on the door.”

She can hear him bumping around in the living room but she’s already two glasses of Prosecco down and she decides to indulge him. Rain splatters the window as she knocks.

“Mulder?”

“Oh, hi,” he says. “Come on in.” He’s holding a candle and he’s wearing a smile with his a soft grey tee-shirt under a pale denim shirt.

It takes a moment to sink in, but the blast of rain at the door jogs her memory. She turns her back on him and lets the red robe sink to the floor. She pushes out her backside and twists her heard over her shoulder. “What are they?”

The flickering flame of the candle is so close to her skin that she feels the heat. He runs it up and down her back and looks up at her. “You know what, Scully? When you knocked at my door that first case, I thought you were coming on to me. You dropped that robe and you were wearing that underwear, so plain but so sexy, and I thought to myself, well, this is a surprise.” He stands and pulls the hair from her shoulder, kissing the nexus of her neck and shoulder with reverence.

“Would you have slept with me? Senior agent that you were?”

He doesn’t stop kissing for a while and she feels her nipples peak. “Yes. I didn’t think you’d last one case. I did my best to piss you off enough that you would beg for a reassignment.”

“And fucking me would have pissed me off?”

He hooks his thumbs under the sides of her bra cups and brushes her tender nipples. “Probably. I would have selfishly taken everything I wanted and not bothered with making you happy. I was an asshole back then.”

She turns and lets him bury his nose in her cleavage. “Still are sometimes, Mulder.” Her head flops back and she feels the tickle of her hair against her back. The robe is pooled at their feet, lush red. The satin of the bra cup shines in the candlelight. He’s taking off the panties and kissing her lower stomach. “Is it too late to make up for my assholery, Scully?” His lips are pushing into her centre and she’s running her hands through his hair, holding him there.

“It’s never too late, Mulder.”


End file.
